


Antlers, Branches, Claws

by amberspyglass



Category: The Decemberists - The Hazards of Love (album)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberspyglass/pseuds/amberspyglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young couple is lost in the Queen's forest, and they have something she wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Antlers, Branches, Claws

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liviania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviania/gifts).



THE QUEEN:

I hold my arm out and spread my fingers against the sky. I am weary of this featureless landscape, but the silhouette of my outstretched hand against the bleak sun gives me an idea. I will dream into existence some trees that reach upward, to serve as walls and doors that will mark this sacred territory.

Pines and aspens to soften the wind and perfume the air. Perhaps they will even shelter a visitor some day. Visitors! I cannot remember the last time I talked to anyone. A thousand green hands on the taiga will bid welcome to my guests, and lead them to their hostess. I will warm them and feed them, and they will love me and stay forever. They would love me already, but they do not know me yet. I have not introduced myself.

* * *

ROBERT:

They assure us that it will be an easy journey; that we will need only to follow a packed dirt road through gently rolling hills until we reach the town where Janet's parents live.

Janet will carry the boy; I will carry our supplies. They promise that it will be two days' travel, maybe three, certainly not four, never five.

* * *

THE QUEEN:

I hold my arm out and spread my fingers against the sky. I am weary of this repetitive landscape, but the silhouette of my fingers against the frost-rimed forest gives me an idea. I will dream into existence an animal with antlers that reach upward, to serve as a guardian for this sacred territory.

A fleetfooted creature to run a circuit the length and breadth of my realm. Perhaps he will even be a son to me some day. A son! I cannot remember the last time I felt this heat in my belly. Shining dark eyes on the taiga will bid welcome to my guests, and lead them to their hostess. I will raise him and train him, and he will love me and stay forever. He would love me already, but he does not know me yet. I have not given birth to him.

* * *

JANET:

They promised us that it would be an easy journey; that we would need only to follow a packed dirt road through gently rolling hills until we reached the town where my parents live. But a wood has choked the path and we cannot even see the hills for the undergrowth.

ROBERT:

Our two-day journey stretched to three, then four, then five. This is the first time I have travelled beyond the village. I am only a shoemaker! I never trained in the arts of the reeve or the ranger, and do not have the wherewithal to interpret the instructions spelled by these twisting paths. There is no road, only the hateful talons of branches that tug at our hair and tear at our filthy clothes.

JANET:

My sister once told me that every stream leads somewhere, and we have followed the waters in the hope of finding a town or a tent or a footprint. But we discover only sources and pools: no endings. Water gushes from tiny holes in rocks, or cascades from falls lost to vision above the spiky canopy. There are whirlpools where upstream and downstream churn, the water disappearing deep into the earth. Is it even possible for water to drain somewhere that is not the sea? Which rivulet do we follow? Which one will take us home?

ROBERT:

The scarlet berries that grow along the banks are the sweetest I have ever tasted, but I will be happy if I never have to eat another. Sometimes we catch one of the wriggly silver fishes that light the streams. There seem to be no mammals in the forest save ourselves: not once have we caught sight of a rabbit or a squirrel, much less a bear or a lynx. I fear that I am going mad; my wife believes that the madness is not in us but in the wood itself. Haunting? Possession? Lord save our son from what monsters may lurk in these twitching shadows.

JANET:

William grows heavier every day. To our surprise, he does not fuss. He is happy to be carried for hours, to drink milk that tastes of nothing but the fruit and fish that serve as our only nourishment. As we grow thinner and dirtier, he seems to wax and shine, as if the very dirt and moss sustain him.

* * *

THE QUEEN:

I am ready to give birth. They say that the delivery of a child is attended by hardship and pain, but I feel only joy. I want to leap and sing! I will have company at last, a family of my own!

ROBERT:

Truly a miracle has befallen us! Just as we were resigned to meeting our death in this wood, we have met a kindly old woman who offered to take us to the edge of the forest.

JANET:

I wonder whether she was lost here once, just like us. Did she have a family too? Did she give up on finding them just as we were about to do? I recognize the stain of the berries on her fingers, the broken leaves tingeing her white hair green. She is beautiful but uncanny; this place has marked her.

ROBERT:

We wished to repay her for her generosity, promised that our families would provide anything she asked for as soon as we arrived home. But she only smiled and assured us that she already has everything she needs. She claimed that this forest is where she's always lived and that she needed nothing from beyond the reach of the trees.

JANET:

As she spoke, she held out her hand, stretched her fingers so that we could see the branches of her ragged nails. Is she a witch? A spectre? My husband shushes me fiercely when I whisper these questions later that night: it will not do, he says, to curse our good fortune.

ROBERT:

I told her we were sure that the forest has not always been here, that it seems to have sprouted up sometime during our lifetimes. My parents remember only gently rolling hills and a packed dirt road this way. They travelled this same road after their wedding so many years ago. My father was my age; I, for my part, was the child that William is now.

JANET:

William loves the old woman. The stories say that infants flinch at the sight of a sorceress, that they will not touch a dead thing no matter how alive it appears. But he reaches for her, cooing, his chubby fingers stretching out in an awkward imitation of her gnarled ones. I would almost had preferred it had he been afraid too.

* * *

THE QUEEN:

The travellers are asleep now. When they awaken they will be at the edge of the forest, facing the ugly brown cottages that they think of as their home. Some home! Over and over again they told me that being taken back there was all they wanted, despite the fact that the place is as noisy as a pigsty and stinks of stale alcohol and manure. I warmed them and fed them; I invited them into my family. They repaid me by speaking ill of this beautiful forest, then insulted me by offering useless trinkets from their house of rotted timber. What do they know of repayment? Let them return to their clay graves: they will have their wish and will not see me again.

But I am not unhappy. On the contrary: I am filled with delight. I have brought the child William to my bosom. I will replace his absurd fat legs with long and swift ones. I will mark white spots on his tawny hide with the tips of my fingers, a signature that will mark him as mine wherever he goes. I will give him two lovely nubs that will blossom into glorious antlers as he grows into manhood.

WILLIAM:

Mother?


End file.
